Memories
by unseengenius
Summary: Van Helsing thinks on his way back from Transylvania. My first fanfic, no plotline, so don't expect one. Oneshot.


**Memories**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Van Helsing. That belongs to Stephen Sommers. Even if I did, then I wouldn't own any of the Legacy, on which Van Helsing is based. _Dracula _belongs to Bram Stoker, _The Wolfman_ which I _think_ belongs to __Sigmund Freud, and _Frankenstein_ by Mary Shelley. _

A/N: Yay, my first actual fanfic. I'm so proud of it, even if you happen to hate it. Do review, please? I did write it while reading The Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy, does it show?

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"Van Helsing, we're here!" Here referred to the middle of nowhere. Carl sighed, looking at the stoning Van Helsing.

"The hell be damned that I had to come! Damn it! I'm not a field man! How am I supposed to look after him if he behaves like that?"

"He" had been like that ever since they had left Transylvania – just staring glumly at nothing. Without even paying attention, Van Helsing dismounted his Transylvanian horse ("nothing's faster than a Transylvanian horse") which was another reminder of Anna. Together, Carl and Van Helsing set up a something similar to a campsite in the middle of the nowhere they were to stop for the night.

Their horses were tied to a nearby stump, probably the remains of a plant. They were in a deserted area, somewhere where the road was dusty, with little water. There were a few bushes in the area, but they were in the process of wilting, mostly from the hot day sun. In fact, it was just basically the middle of nowhere.

Carl muttered about inns as he got ready for bed, or his best substitute. It would have been nice to stay at an inn, have a hot dinner and a warm bed, but unfortunately the downside of Van Helsing's … job was that he was the most wanted man in Europe, and there were probably a good number of wanted posters in the nearest town, with a picture of him, with a nice reward for his capture. Being in any night shelter that had anyone else was probably not a good idea, as the most wanted man in Europe is generally recognised in all of Europe.

Van Helsing had gotten ready for bed too, with the same blank expression, his eyes distant. He lay down, and watched Carl, who was now snoring gently. He couldn't sleep, not since Anna… he didn't want to think about it. He tried to push it to the depths of his mind, and failed. He tried to keep his mind blank, but that didn't work either. Too much had happened to him in Transylvania. It was different, because though he had fought many monsters, there was something different back there. No where else had he seen things so puzzling. No where else was so like hell. No where else had he needed Carl so much. No where else had there been people as determined and strong as Anna. No where else had he been so affected by the aftermath.

Thinking about Anna sent a pain through him. He wanted to yell, and let the pain out. He wanted to tear at himself, to lessen that feeling. He wanted to join her, just to see her again. She had taught him so much, and he had admired her, but she was gone. Cruelly torn from him.

He turned over onto his back, staring straight up at the sky. If he looked hard, he thought that he might have seen Anna looking down at him. He saw her smiling down on him, remembering all the times they'd had together. There were tears rolling down her cheeks, like the day he had finally brought her to the sea, but when she had sacrificed herself, to rid his curse. He shuddered again, wondering what would have happened to him if he hadn't gotten the antidote. He shivered, a chill passing through him and firmly pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

Van Helsing couldn't get to sleep, there were too many thoughts in his head. He didn't really want to either. How could he after all the ordeals he had been through? He looked at Carl again, and thought. Why was he called Gabriel? Gabriel meant "God sent", so had God sent him? Probably. Why was he sent though? Stupid question, he thought. I'm here to eliminate all the dangers to the people. A little voice said quietly in his head, _and the people you care about too_. He thought about Anna again, and something in him started aching again. She had died for him. She had put herself in danger to remove his curse, and he had killed her in repayment. True he hadn't realised what he was doing as a werewolf, but he was responsible, and he would never forgive himself for it.

He turned over again to look at Carl. Carl's ambition was probably to do everything that a monk couldn't do, but a friar could. Like curse, which he demonstrated as often as humanly possible, even if he didn't curse well. Carl also "lived among the people" as a friar should, but Van Helsing was pretty sure spending too much time with pretty female civilians was not quite was friars were supposed to do.

His thoughts turned to Anna again. She would've had a great life, if her family had not been cursed. She was beautiful, and a princess. Her life should have been a fairytale. Instead it was a nightmare. Yet in spite of all this, she was strong. She hadn't hidden from the world, because of the terror; she had faced it head on.

He heard Anna ask, "And what about you, Mr Van Helsing?"

He could not remember his past, anything beyond seven years. He had been found crawling up the steps of the church, and Cardinal Jinette and the Order had taken him in. He could not remember any of it, and as Cardinal Jinette had put it, it was "a penance for past sins". Van Helsing remembered when Carl had asked him what he remembered from seven years before the trip to Transylvania. He remembered nothing. He knew only his job. _My life... my job... my curse... is to vanquish evil._ He remembered fighting the Romans at Masada, even if it was in 73AD. How had he managed that? Was that memory even his? These questions whirled inside his head, and unsettled him.

He did not remember anything about Count Vladisius Dracula. Dracula had claimed that he was murdered by Gabriel Van Helsing. Van Helsing however, couldn't remember such a thing, nor did he want to know why. Dracula had taunted him, asking if he remembered, and he didn't. If he had murdered Dracula, why had he?

Why did he have such memories?

"Some things are better left forgotten," Van Helsing whispered into the night.


End file.
